I HAVE been doing a bit of socialising this past couple of weeks. You can't beat a natter and a convivial glass or two, it refreshes the soul, so to speak.

I was at a bit of a posh do the other week in Blackpool, Thwaites were the hosts, it was to launch a new lager that they are going to brew and it was attended by a real live Prince. Prince Luitholt of Bavaria!

Well, I just couldn't resist it, I had to go over and give him a little kiss, on the cheek of course. I mean, one has to know one's place. I thought well, I've kissed a few frogs in my time, so I'm not going to miss the chance to kiss a prince.

Sad to say nothing happened, he didn't turn into a frog, and I didn't change into a princess. But the lager flowed and it was good, so good it made all the men look handsome. We had a great evening though, all the men suited and booted, and looking smart, you have a job to beat a crisp shirt and a nice tie.

I must admit I am not in favour of all those football shirts on adult males, and whilst I'm on a roll I don't care much for the fashion of leaving the shirt laps outside their trousers either, I suppose its an age thing. They say manners makes a man, but there's no doubt that a good suit can cover up a mis-spent life of beer and beef burgers.

When I look at some of the old films, Cary Grant and that lot, in suits, trilby hats, I think they looked a lot older than I am sure they were.

You know, when I was at the Jubilee we all wore hats and gloves and even had handbags to match. I dressed a great deal older then than I do now.

And talking of hats, this was when Terry O'Hare was in the Fielden Arms, Eileen Poulton in the Forresters, Nancy in Sames'es. Oh, I could mention lots more, Ken Pilling in the Merchant, Peggy and Leo in the Ribblesdale. The town seemed full of characters, and not just the landlords and landladies, the customers were very colourful too, a bit too colourful at times. I see Big Allan Taylor's still around. Mind you, he says he's retired and he's still only a bit of a lad.

But here I am going off at a tangent. I was meant to be telling you about my hectic social life. Last Saturday night there was I no, not with a prince this time, but the Mayor and Mayoress, the Bishop of Blackburn and his wife, Paul Baker, the MD of Thwaites, the Assistant and Features Editors from the Telegraph (well, I had to put them in didn't I?) Dennis Lotis, the heartthrob of the Sixties, plus lots of local celebs, all with a capital C, far too numerous to mention.

The evening was topped off by a visit from Gemma Craven, the big musical comedy star accompanied by none other than Lord Odin, my nephew. And where was all this happening? At the Thwaites Theatre of course.

Just reopened after 20 long years of grafting, scrounging, begging and pleading by this small band of dedicated workers led by Michael Berry, and they have finally pulled it off. So you can see why I was pleased to be there. I remember it as the Empire Cinema, known to us kids as the 'Barn,' The Plad was in the centre of Mill Hill and The Scrat was the old Kings. But what a lot of pleasure we had for tuppence eh?

My brother Tom used to pay for me in, but only on the condition that as we rode home on our imaginary horses playing cowboys and Indians, I was the Indian and dropped 'dead' every time he shot me, I got to be quite good at it.

The cinema was a big part of our lives. The Three Stooges, Old Mother Riley, Tom Mix and the cliffhanging serial every Saturday afternoon. Buck Rogers and the Queen of the Underworld. How will he escape? Will he live? You bet your life he will, there are another 50 weeks to go.

PS No there are no prizes for guessing who was Queen of the Underworld in the schoolyard.